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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133709">Voices</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_smokes/pseuds/midnight_smokes'>midnight_smokes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sleeping Pills, Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:41:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133709</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_smokes/pseuds/midnight_smokes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chan can't breathe. He can't breathe and it feels like the whole room is collapsing, like the walls are closing around him and he can't escape. The voices are screaming at him and he just wants them to stop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Voices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first ever story I post and also the first one I ever really wrote so I am still trying to improve.<br/>Also, English is not my mother tongue so there are likely going to be punctuation errors and other mistakes. </p>
<p>The story is heavily dealing with mental health issues so if you are in any way triggered by this I am asking you to read this at your own risk.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chan can't breathe. He can't breathe and it feels like the whole room is collapsing, like the walls are closing around him and he can't escape. The voices are screaming at him and he just wants them to stop.</p>
<p>It's been like that for years. Hell, he can't even remember ever <em> not </em> having felt this way. But the older he got the louder the voices became. And all Chan yearns for is for them to stop, to shut up. </p>
<p>
  <em> Look at you, you are pathetic. </em>
</p>
<p>Stop.</p>
<p>
  <em> You are worthless. What a failure you are, your parents must be so disappointed in you. No one wants you. </em>
</p>
<p>No, stop! Please stop.</p>
<p>
  <em> Did you know how your friends all talk about you behind your back? They pity you. Remember how they said you were annoying? You are exhausting them with the miserable excuse of a person that you are. They wish you’d just leave. </em>
</p>
<p>No! </p>
<p>Tugging his hair so hard his eyes stung the voices became quieter and Chan could breathe again. Having panic attacks is nothing out of the ordinary for Chan but dealing with them just left him feeling ever more numb. They come out of nowhere, one minute he is fine and the next his chest is constricting and it feels like there are knives in it. It gets so hard to breathe and he wishes he could just die. </p>
<p>Having calmed down as much as he can Chan gets up from the cold floor and leaves for the bathroom. He is exhausted and so incredibly tired, tired of being awake, tired of being alive. Walking to the bathroom takes him longer than usual as the attacks leave him dizzy. His eyes just don’t seem to focus on anything, vision going in and out of focus he walks along the dark corridor. </p>
<p>Living alone does have its perks, it’s quiet and Chan doesn’t need to worry about his friends realizing he isn’t doing good. He never wants them to see, they are young and so bright and full of life. They would be devastated to know that funny, caring Chan is just a shell, a facade to put up for society. </p>
<p>Will it ever stop? Will it ever feel like I am worth something, like I matter? </p>
<p>Standing in front of his bathroom mirror the bright lights blind him momentarily. He has been sitting in his dark flat for days not bothering to turn on the lights or open the blinds. The darkness is welcome, it’s comforting and Chan doesn’t need to face reality. </p>
<p>His eyes finally having adjusted to the lights Chan looks up into the mirror. It’s dirty with toothpaste stains that he couldn’t be bothered to clean up. </p>
<p>Who am I? I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror anymore. Where did I go wrong, how did I get here?</p>
<p>The reflection that stares back at him seems familiar and like a stranger at the same time. His face is slim, his cheeks being hollow and his eyes having sunken in long ago from all the skipped meals. His hair is oily and matted against his head, skin having broken out in several places due to poor hygiene. </p>
<p>I disgust myself. </p>
<p>And yet, the worst part are his eyes. Chan used to love his eyes, they have always been the favourite part of his face next to his dimples. But now he can’t stand seeing his eyes anymore. Because the eyes staring back aren’t his any longer. The eyes staring back at him are dead and unfocused, there is no light in them. They hide all the pain he has been feeling for years and not a single smile has reached them in weeks. </p>
<p>Rolling up the sleeves of his black hoodie Chan gets to washing his face. The ice-cold water makes him feel more alive, it hurts his hands and prickles his skin like thousands of little needles. </p>
<p>Wiping his face off with a grey towel he decides that he can just as well take a shower. It must have been days since he last took a proper shower and he thinks maybe, just maybe it will make him feel better. </p>
<p>Taking off his oversized hoodie and loose sweats Chan can’t help but look at his body. He lost a lot of weight over the past two weeks and his ribs and hipbones are protruding. Looking down he also sees all of the scars adorning his arms and legs. </p>
<p>His lower arms are covered in angry red marks from all the time he burned himself with his lighter. Some of the burn marks got infected and never healed properly, leaving even uglier and obvious scars. And as cliche as it sounds they are the reason why he hasn’t worn short-sleeved shirts in years, making summer time harder than it already is. </p>
<p>Chan hates summers with a passion. Not only does he hate them because there is no way in hell he will go out in a t-shirt and shorts, it also makes his friends question his moods even more. He detests summers because everybody is happy and enjoying their lives while he just wants to hide away from prying eyes and all the questions asking if he isn’t feeling really hot in this black hoodie. </p>
<p>Tracing a deep burn mark on his right arm Chan looks down at his legs. And if he didn’t know any better he would think they resemble some sick and twisted form of art. His thighs are scarred over from when he cut himself ever since he was 15. At some point there wasn’t any place left he had not cut so he cut over old scars times and times again, resulting in protruding scars varying anywhere between white and angry red. There have been countless times where he cut so deep that the cuts would’ve need stitches but Chan never really cared about that anyways. </p>
<p>It’s really sad when everything you thought would take the sadness really only made it deeper. But I can never say I’m numb inside cause that just sounds so dark. </p>
<p>After zoning out some more he finally got into the shower and promptly turned the water on. The temperature was scolding hot, Chan making sure he would burn his skin and get out of the shower looking like a lobster. </p>
<p>Standing under the shower head the hot water makes yesterday’s cuts on his thighs sting. One of them opens up again and starts bleeding but Chan doesn’t pay any mind to it.</p>
<p>When he first cut himself at 15 he was so ashamed. He was ashamed he dropped low enough that he didn’t see any other way out of whatever he was feeling at that time. By the time  he fully realized what he had done he had triggered himself into a panic attack. </p>
<p>Why didn’t get I help back then? I should’ve gotten help when I still had the chance to get better. It’s too late now, isn’t it? </p>
<p>Chan no longer feels ashamed when he cuts or burns himself. It no longer triggers him into panic attacks. He needs this. It helps him feel. When Chan is numb inside and it seems like he will drown any second hurting himself makes him feel again. It’s like drowning and for a short moment he gets back up and can breathe before he slips under again. </p>
<p>After washing his hair and scrubbing his body clean, not caring if any soap got into his fresh cuts, Chan takes a towel and gets out of the shower. Roughly drying off his body he puts on his sweats and hoodie again, even though they desperately need to be washed. His skin is sore and it feels like he got a bad sunburn. </p>
<p>Grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen Chan makes his way back to his room. Closing the door he is surrounded by darkness again, the only light illuminating his room coming from his laptop still playing quiet music. </p>
<p>Sitting on his bed he blankly stares into the darkness. It’s nearly 3 in the morning and he is dead tired but Chan doesn’t want to sleep. The moment he falls asleep his nightmares will come again. He can’t even escape his thoughts and the voices when he is asleep.</p>
<p>The nightmares are the main reason for his insomnia nowadays. When he was younger he used to lay in bed and cry himself to sleep when it all became too much to handle again. At night the sadness hits hardest when there is no way to distract himself. It rips open his chest again and fills his whole body with aching numbness. It makes breathing harder. </p>
<p>Being alone at night is dangerous. The voices get louder and more persisting. It gets close to impossible to ignore them. And yet sleep is no solution as they even manage to follow him into his dreams. So he keeps sitting in his dark room night after night praying he will stay strong enough to see the sun rise again. </p>
<p>
  <em> How much longer will you keep doing this, huh?  </em>
</p>
<p>Leave me alone, you can’t hurt me. </p>
<p>
  <em> Oh, but we can. You are nothing, have never been and will never be any more than that. You know that.  </em>
</p>
<p>Shut up! What do you want from me? Leave me alone.</p>
<p>
  <em> We could never leave you. We are just parts of and every time you pretended to be strong and smiled you killed us a little more and locked us in this grave. We will never leave.  </em>
</p>
<p>3.21 a.m and Chan still can’t sleep. Opening the drawer of his nightstand he takes out the bottle of sleeping pills he has been prescribed for his insomnia months ago. Popping two pills into his palm he quickly swallows them with a little water. </p>
<p>
  <em> Why don’t you take out the blade too while you’re at it? It’s time to end what you started so long ago.  </em>
</p>
<p>Hesitating, Chan slowly opens the drawer again and takes out his razor blade. It’s dull from over-use but it will do the job anyways. </p>
<p>
  <em> End it. It’s time to let go, no one will miss you anyway. </em>
</p>
<p>Stop lying! They will miss me, I can’t go yet. They need me.</p>
<p>
  <em> No one needs you. They won’t miss you when you’re gone, they will be happy that they finally got rid of you. There will be no tears, you are not worth any tears.  </em>
</p>
<p>Rolling up his sleeves Chan drags the blade across his arms. It stings but at the same time he barely feels it. </p>
<p>
  <em> Deeper.  </em>
</p>
<p>Pushing the dull blade into his skin deeper he makes another cut. The flesh gives way to the blade easily and blood starts running down his arm. </p>
<p>
  <em> Pathetic.  </em>
</p>
<p>Another cut, ripping open a badly healed burn mark. </p>
<p>
  <em> No one loves you. You are not even worth a single tear.  </em>
</p>
<p>Another cut, another pill. </p>
<p>
  <em> Look at you. You are even failing when you try to kill yourself. Can’t you at least try harder for once in your sad, miserable life? Do us all a favour and fucking do it! Try harder.  </em>
</p>
<p>3.58 a.m and Chan doesn’t even know how many times he cut himself, how many pills he took. His mind is fuzzy and he can barely feel the warm blood running down his arm pooling in his lap and staining his sweats. Automatic, as if he were a robot, he keeps dragging the blade over his arm.</p>
<p>
  <em> Why don’t you let go? You have been fighting for so long.  </em>
</p>
<p>Will you leave me alone when I let go? </p>
<p>
  <em> We will never leave. Wherever you go we will follow. You are nothing without us. We are all that you’ve got.  </em>
</p>
<p>Please just undo this chain of pain. I want to be free. You need to disappear or I will never be free. Leave me. </p>
<p>
  <em> We will get you away from this pain. Just let go.  </em>
</p>
<p>It hurts. </p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>4.16 a.m, a single tear escapes Chan’s eye and he smiles. </p>
<p>At last, he succeeded. The voices finally stopped.</p>
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